by Lee Falk
"Did you hear me?" roared Ephraim.
"I heard you," said Kit quietly. "You have no right to beat me, and I shall not let you do it."
Ephraim shook with anger at this defiance. He was a big burly man, a former lumberjack, and used to rough tactics. He started toward Kit, then stopped. He was bigger and heavier but there was something about this grim young face that gave him a sudden chill. Behind, in the shadows, little Guran stood like a carved idol. Without knowing why, Ephraim was suddenly afraid. He wanted to get out of that cellar fast, and he did. He went to the stairs and spoke without turning back.
"I'll talk to you another time," he said.
Aunt Bessie was listening at the hall door as be came out.
"You didn't hurt him?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"No, I changed my mind," said Ephraim.
"I'm so glad," said Aunt Bessie happily. "That was a sweet and fine thing to do."
Kit went back to his routine. In his heart he knew that is what his father would expect him to do. It was not quite the same now, at school. Boys understand what running away means. He'd been unhappy, this stern classmate. They were more friendly and sympathetic. But Ephraim remained grouchy. One thing continued to disturb him.
"How could your sister send that boy here with no money?" he demanded again one night. "That 'rich planter,' living in a cave, did he expect me to pay for a private school education, and feed both of them? They eat like elephants!"
Kit overheard this, and he remembered something. He had forgotten to give them the little sack. He took it to his aunt and uncle as they sat at the dinner table and explained.
"My father doesn't keep money, but he gave me this to give to you, to pay for my education and upkeep," said Kit. Ephraim stared at the shining jewels, white, green, red, and blue.
"What am I supposed to do with these? Are they glass?" he asked suspiciously.
"They don't look like glass," said Aunt Bessie, "but they make such clever imitations now. Are they glass, Kit?"
"I don't know," said Kit.
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Ephraim and Bessie and Kit took the sack to a jeweler- friend in the town. The man spent a long time examining them with a magnifying glass.
"Will those pay for the boy's schooling?" asked Ephraim, expecting his friend to laugh at him.
"Where did you get these, Ephraim?" said the jeweler.
"Never mind where. I didn't steal them. Will they pay for his schooling, is all I care."
"I think you might buy a small school with them, Ephraim," said the jeweler.
When Ephraim realized the value of the gems, he turned white, then asked Kit, "Where did your father get these?"
Kit shrugged. "He has a whole roomful of them," he said.
"A whole roomful?" said Ephraim weakly.
Now Uncle Ephraim treated Kit well. He was pleasant, he even brought him a glass of milk to his room at bedtime. Also one for Guran.
At home and school, life became good for Kit and he was happier. Guran, the wise little man, watched and knew all was well. He could make a good report to the Deep Woods. He then announced to Kit that he was leaving, that the time was up. Kit was not happy about this, but he knew it must be. Guran was miserable in this strange land, and was anxious to return to his people.
Before leaving the second-floor room for the last time, he tried to give Kit a farewell gift, his most prized possession, his weapons. These were the small bow and stone-tipped arrows and the short lance that he had brought from the Deep Woods, wrapped in hide. Kit was touched, but refused. He knew the little man would need them as soon as he entered the jungle. It was a long trek from the sea to the Deep Woods, and he would be in constant danger from animals, and possibly from men if he were unarmed. But with his weapons in his hands no human being would come near him. Ordinarily they would run at the sight of him. So Kit refused and Guran understood and was not offended.
They took him to the airport. By now, he had learned to wear ordinary clothing, but his small figure still attracted attention. Since he spoke no languages that were known in this world, he carried written instructions and wore printed tags that showed his destinations.
Kit shook hands with him, something they had both learned in Clarksville, and Guran was gone.
Gone with him was Kit's last link with the jungle and the world of his childhood. Now, for a long time, his life would be here.
CHAPTER 10
THE SCHOOLBOY WONDER
With Guran no longer waiting at the house for him, Kit began to remain at the academy after school hours to watch the teams practicing. The track and football teams were on the playing fields outside.
Boxing, wrestling, and fencing teams worked out in the gym. He watched them all, comparing their techniques with those he'd learned in the Deep Woods.
But he did not participate in anything, still uncertain about his acceptance by his classmates. One afternoon, he was fascinated to see an archery lesson in progress on the school lawn. It was a class of seniors, run by Mr. Hobbes, Kit's English literature teacher who was also the school's track coach.
Mr. Hobbes was an archery enthusiast, and during summer vacations went into the north woods or 68
the Western mountain country to hunt with bow and arrow.
Kit sat on the grass and watched. He was surprised by the size of the long bows and the straight steel-tipped arrows. Quite different from the crude pygmy weapons he had grown up with. He was amused by the awkwardness of the big boys, and by their lack of skill. But he hid his amusement behind an impassive expression. Mr. Hobbes, in his demonstration, was not bad at it, Kit decided, though he wouldn't last long in the jungle. Too slow and inaccurate. That night, Kit thought about those beautiful big bows and arrows and longed to try one. The next afternoon, he returned to watch them again. Mr. Hobbes had noticed him and was pleased to see him. He was curious about this somber boy from the jungle who rarely spoke in his class but learned quickly.
Near the end of the class, Mr. Hobbes called to Kit, asking him if he'd like to try. Kit hesitated. The seniors, seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds, looked at him with interest and no hostility. They'd heard about this strange boy, but as upper classmen, had no contact with him. Kit's eagerness to hold the bow overcame his shyness, and he grasped it with obvious delight. If only Guran could be here to see this beautiful bow! It was twice as long as the bows he had used. It was strung tightly, but so were the pygmy bows.
"Maybe that is too hard for you," said Mr. Hobbes. "I can adjust it to a lighter pull."
"No, it's okay," said Kit, using an expression he had heard in the schoolyard.
He flexed the bow several times, then examined the arrow, holding it horizontally extended from his eye to observe its trueness. Beautiful. Mr. Hobbes watched him sharply. As an archer, he recognized the experienced feel that Kit was showing. Then Kit threaded the arrow in the bow and took his stance facing the target a hundred feet away.
"You can get closer if you want," suggested Mr. Hobbes.
"This is okay," said Kit.
He bent the bow in a wide arc, as far as it would bend. Mr. Hobbes and the seniors stared. They knew the tough quality of this bow, and how hard it was to bend. This slim seventh grader was stronger than he looked. Then Kit released the arrow. It hid the outer edge of the bull's-eye. All applauded, but he turned in annoyance to Mr. Hobbes.
"May I try another?" he asked. "I'm not used to this bow."
Amazed, Mr. Hobbes handed him another arrow. Once more, the bow was bent into the wide arc.
Twang! Bull's-eye, dead center.
More applause.
"Fantastic!" said Mr. Hobbes. "Can you do that again?"
Kit nodded. He did it five more times. All bull's-eyes, the arrows bunched in a tight clump.
"That's the most perfect shooting I've ever seen," said Mr. Hobbes enthusiastically. "It's remarkable!"
"Not so remarkable," said Kit thoughtfully. "I've been using a bow e
ver since I learned to walk, since I was two, or three."
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They all sat on the grass.
"What did you shoot? Tell us about it," said Mr. Hobbes.
The biggest animal he'd ever killed was a wild boar that had charged out of the bushes at him one day when he was hunting with Guran, he told them. But he had shot many smaller animals-for food, he added quickly-he did not hunt for sport in the jungle. Mr. Hobbes and the boys were fascinated.
They wanted to hear more, but Kit had talked enough that day. He said he had to go home to do his homework. "English lit.," he added, smiling at Mr. Hobbes.
That afternoon broke the ice for Kit. He had a few more sessions with the archery class. Word spread about his ability and the student audience grew each day- among them, his classmates from the seventh grade. They watched his amazing shooting and his easy camaraderie with the seniors and Mr.
Hobbes. Now, in the cafeteria and the schoolyard, Kit no longer sat alone. He was sought after by many boys in other grades as well, and friendly rivalry developed as to who would sit with this interesting boy.
Kit had flexed the bow, but he had not yet really flexed his muscles. That came one day when he wandered into the playing field to watch the track and football teams at work. Mr. Hobbes, the coach, was the first to get him involved. He invited him to join the runners in the sprints and the longer runs.
When Kit agreed, Mr. Hobbes told him he could find some track shoes or sneakers in the locker room, as well as a track suit.
Kit removed only his jacket, shirt, socks and shoes, running barefoot on the cinder track. And he ran like a deer that first day. Even the football players working in the center of the big field stopped to watch him.
The milers were getting in shape that day, and Kit joined them, eight times around the big oval. The coach timed them casually with a stopwatch. Time wasn't important yet. Training had just begun. But when Kit lapped the others at the halfway mark and raced on, his long hair flying like a mane, other runners and football players alike crowded around the track coach and his stopwatch. They began to shout encouragement to Kit as he raced by. When he finished the laps and walked over to the group, untired and breathing easily, they stared at him.
"This stopwatch must be broken," said Mr. Hobbes. Kit examined it with interest.
"You were timing me. If I had known that, I would have run faster."
Later the stopwatch was checked. It was not broken. It was accurate.
"It would appear," said the coach, his eyes bugging slightly, "that this schoolboy ran a second slower than the world's record. And according to him, he wasn't even trying.
Such news gets around. A crowd was out to watch Kit run the next day. But he was watching javelin practice. He asked if he might try. He knew about this. They gave him the javelin. With an easy swing, he threw it into the stands, farther than anyone at Clark Academy had ever done. Then he tried everything the team offered. Discus, high jump, broad jump, and sprints. He excelled in all the events. Obviously, the new boy was a phenomenal athlete.
The football coach, Mr. Hackley, reached out for him. Kit was unfamiliar with the game, but after watching a few scrimmages, joined in, again barefoot. Receiving the ball, he sped to the goalpost without a hand touching him. On a second try, he drove right through the line, where an open hole was supposed to be. But wasn't. That didn't stop him. He moved like a racing tank, bowling over 70
teammates and opponents alike and made another touchdown. He trotted over to the coach, smiling, for he enjoyed this rough-and-tumble game.
"Was that all right?" he asked.
Mr. Hackley nodded blankly, his mouth hanging open in amazement. This boy wasn't real.
Kit remained with the football team, but also took time out for boxing and wrestling, two sports he knew and enjoyed. No one at the school knew either judo or karate, so he taught them. His prowess at sports increased ~his popularity with his classmates, and this acceptance made him happy and lessened his loneliness. He hadn't forgotten the Deep Woods, and wrote to his parents every week.
He had not told them about running away. Why worry them, now that it was all over? He told them about the fun he was having on the teams. His father's letter was to be expected: "Don't forget your books." The letters from home, with the exotic stamps, intrigued Bessie and Ephraim, as well as the boys at school, some of whom saved stamps. Kit didn't tell them the letters were written by torchlight in a cave, and carried by fast relay runners to the seaport. That would be hard to believe. But Kit took his father's advice, and worked as hard on his books as on his teams.
When the practice period was over, and the games and meets began, fame came quickly to Clark Academy and their star athlete whom some dubbed, "The Schoolboy Wonder." He ran like a whirlwind through the schoolboy teams, still barefoot. As the ground became harder and colder, Mr.
Hackley convinced him to wear shoes. Kit settled for sneakers. In the indoor track meets that winter, he broke a dozen junior records in the sprints and longer runs, and in several field events such as javelin, broad jump, pole vault, and discus. In boxing and wrestling, he was unbeaten in his division.
It is not too surprising that Kit excelled in these sports. From the moment of his first steps in the Deep Woods, he had had rigorous daily physical training so that his body development and coordination were superb. Boxing and wrestling were good for Kit. Here he learned to fight for sport rather than for survival. It amused him when the school paper's sports column described him as having a "killer instinct" in the ring. He no longer tried to kill, only to win, as the ship's captain had advised so long ago.
One day in the late autumn, a terrible thing happened at the Clarksville zoo. The black panther had turned on his keeper, badly mangling him, and had escaped from its cage. Kit remembered the animal from his earlier visits to the zoo, the glittering yellow eyes, the restless beast prowling in its cage, stalking everyone who passed by. And he recalled that the keeper's own words were, "Look at those eyes! Crazy! He's a killer. Loves to kill. Never turn your back on him." Evidently, the keeper had forgotten his own advice. He had turned his back momentarily while cleaning the cage and the animal had leaped upon him. He had been taken to the hospital in critical condition, and the killer was loose on the town.
The news created an instant furor in Clarksville. The schools were uncertain whether to keep the children there or send them home. Most of them decided on the latter course and told their children to rush straight home. The children didn't need to be told twice. Many of them had seen the black panther in its cage, and there was no loitering that day or stopping at the corner candy store.
The police and firemen spread across the town, searching. The streets were empty as tradesmen shut their shops and people in automobiles headed for their garages. Shotguns and rifles and handguns were taken from closets as people anxiously watched their yards. It was a frightening thing to have this creature loose in the town.
Several dogs in the park near the zoo were the first victims. They went after the big black cat, perhaps not realizing it was different from the cats they usually chased. After all, it looked like a cat, and smelled like one. Two were destroyed at once. A third managed to escape, badly mauled. Then
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the black beast vanished into the thick bushes.
Police moving with the keepers carefully searched through the area. They carried heavy nets and guns but the keeper's advice was to shoot on sight. It would be difficult to take this big cat alive.
Kit had been on the way to an archery class with Mr. Hobbes when the news came. Everyone in the school was promptly dismissed and told to go home at once. Kit rushed off with the bow and a quiver of steel-headed arrows over his shoulder. In the excitement, no one at the school noticed this.
Alone, he prowled the empty streets. Houses were shut tight and frightened faces peered through the windows. An occasional adult or child dashed breathlessly to a house and hurried inside.
A policeman shouted at Kit to go home. He nodded and went on. He finally reached the park. All the nursemaids and baby carriages had long since fled. Even the usual bums sunning on the benches were gone. A few police and keepers moved in the distance, carefully combing the bushes.
Kit found the dead dogs that had been killed by the panther. The sight did not disturb him. He had seen jungle kills before. He looked about quickly, trying to guess the direction the panther might have gone. There were thick bushes on two sides. The police were moving through them. On a third side, there was a low wall with bushes and a lawn beyond. This was a school for girls. He knelt near the slain animals which were within a few yards of each other. There were tiny flecks of blood among the pebbles, barely noticeable. He visualized the drops falling from the claws or fangs of the panther as it raced away. Bending down close to the path, he followed the flecks. They led directly to the wall. On the wall, he found a faint smear. The panther had leaped over the wall, lightly touching it. He looked about for the keepers and police, but they had disappeared into the bushes.
